


rumor has it

by amonglilies



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Post-Time Skip, political maneuvering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:07:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22244584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amonglilies/pseuds/amonglilies
Summary: Felix watched as Dimitri gathered up his papers, shuffling them slowly, absently. Something was wrong. There was something he wasn’t telling him. “What else did Sylvain say?”The silence lasted a second too long. "He said —" Dimitri stopped, hesitating for another excruciating moment, before he lifted his head to meet Felix’s gaze. “He said he was getting married.”Felix stared at him, unable to even muster up anger at the sight of pity on Dimitri’s face. It felt as though a sudden wind had blown over him, extinguishing the growing flicker of hope he had pretended he didn’t have. “Oh,” was all he managed to push out of his throat.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 55
Kudos: 1032





	rumor has it

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up...so much longer than I thought it would be.
> 
> It gets a little sad in the middle but it really is a happy ending, I promise!
> 
> Unbeta'd.

Felix rarely looked forward to his trips to Fhirdiad.

He barely acknowledged the greetings from the guards at the entrance of the palace, the bows and curtsies from the servants, as he started the long trek to the cabinet where Dimitri held his monthly meetings. He ignored the nobles and their simpering calls of “Duke Fraldarius!”, tuning out whatever annoying gossip they were engaged in this time. He walked faster, scowling, in hopes that it would get people to stop trying to talk to him. It wasn’t the travel or the weather or the bustle of the lively city that Felix hated, but the fact that he had to spend his time rubbing elbows with people he barely tolerated, listening to them whisper behind each other’s backs and whine about how hard their lives were. Some days he wished he had taken his sword and left this all behind, training in swordplay rather than politics.

“Felix!”

Felix blinked, slowing his pace as he passed an intersecting corridor, turning to look towards the familiar voice. Down the hall, Sylvain finished up his conversation with one of the guards before walking toward him. A smile grew on Sylvain’s lips as he neared; Felix tried not to think about how fast his mood had lifted at the sight of it.

“When did you get back?” Felix asked as Sylvain fell into step beside him.

“Just this morning,” Sylvain answered. “Headed straight here to report to His Highness.”

It had been three months since Felix last saw him. Sylvain was the king’s special liaison to the Sreng; that meant Sylvain was often in Sreng, trying to broker peace with the clans and rarely spending any time in Gautier, much less anywhere else other than Fhirdiad to report to the king. In the past year since the end of the war, their paths rarely had reason to cross, but still they found chances to catch up before their duties called them away again.

“How have you been?” Sylvain asked, leaning forward to look him. “Still trying to glare everyone into submission?”

Felix glanced at him, scowl deepening, which only seemed to amuse Sylvain more. “I’ve been fine.”

They passed a pair of maids, who giggled as they walked by. If Felix had listened more closely, he probably would have known Sylvain was back just by the number of tittering women hanging around in the palace. Like he was back when they were at Garreg Mach, Sylvain was a popular noble, still as handsome and charming as ever, his youthful indiscretions and legendary prowess still popular topics discussed among women, nobles and commoners alike. Now, on top of that, Sylvain was a war hero, a shining example of a knight without actually being one. Though he no longer wore armor regularly as he did during the war, he was still built like a paladin underneath his diplomatic attire. It wasn’t just vanity either; Felix had firsthand experience of Sylvain’s strength when he’d managed to convince Sylvain to participate in a friendly spar on the palace training grounds: parrying his strong blows, struggling against Sylvain’s body whenever he managed to pin him —

Anyway. Felix supposed that all made him a decent choice for a diplomat.

“I heard there’s been some trouble in Fraldarius,” Sylvain mentioned.

Felix nodded. “A few skirmishes along the southern border. I haven’t had the time to deal with it myself so I hired Leonie to handle and monitor the situation.”

“Leonie, huh?” Sylvain said, thoughtful. “She visit you often?”

“Every once in a while,” Felix answered vaguely.

A beat. “I see,” Sylvain said. Felix was relieved he didn’t ask for more details, not wanting to think about how Leonie had challenged him to another drinking match the last time she dropped by for payment. He had to pay her and her company extra not to tell a single soul that he fell into the watering trough in front of the tavern. Thankfully, Sylvain’s voice chased away the humiliating memory. “I’ve been exhausted, by the way, thank you for asking. The peace talks haven’t gone anywhere since the last time we spoke.”

“Really,” Felix responded dryly. “I was sure they would have accepted any terms so long as it included getting you out of their country for good.”

Sylvain let out an offended noise. “I’ll have you know that I’m quite liked among the Sreng clan leaders. Especially the women."

Felix kept his gaze forward as his eyes narrowed. A guard made the mistake of making eye contact and immediately looked away, his armor rattling as he straightened his posture. “If you say so,” Felix muttered.

“I’ve heard things haven’t progressed much here either. How’s my old man these days?”

Felix’s mood immediately worsened at the mention of Sylvain’s father.

Many of those who led the houses now were his former comrades, eager for change and peace, but Margrave Gautier was one of the few nobles who kept control of their house after the war. Felix had little patience for him, but not in the same way he didn’t have patience for Sylvain and his antics. At the monthly meetings, Dimitri often tried to discuss getting rid of the Crest system, even possibly reducing the power the nobility had; it wasn’t a particularly popular idea, but the margrave was especially hostile to it. He was more concerned with preserving his status, unwilling to give up advantages he had lived with his entire life, even willing to sacrifice peace for it, knowing he could bargain when Gautier was the only thing separating them from a country that had yet to agree to a treaty. Felix had broached the subject of stripping the elder Gautier of his title with Dimitri, but Dimitri refused, wanting to wait before resorting to such an extreme with someone who had aided them during the war. As if time could change the old fool’s mind.

“Troublesome,” was all Felix allowed himself to say.

“An impressive show of restraint, but it’s wasted on me. I know how he is.” Sylvain sighed in commiseration. “I’ve long given up trying to argue with him, but I thought he was just difficult with me because I'm his son. I was hoping you and His Highness would have better luck.”

Felix grunted, irritated. Even though Dimitri was now king and Felix was a duke, the margrave still saw them as children. These days Felix was able to keep his composure in the face of inanity, a skill finely honed from frequent exposure, but he still wasn’t particularly tactful, often blunt to the point of rudeness; he knew the margrave only tolerated his remarks because he had a Major Crest. It gave him some satisfaction, knowing he had something to hang over the old man’s head. Felix wasn’t one for grudges, but he knew now of the pain Sylvain had endured because of his father’s expectations, how he had suffered at the hands of his brother, who had been twisted by their father’s obsession with Crests. It wasn't something Felix would easily forgive or forget.

“You should be margrave instead,” Felix said quietly as they waited for the guards to pull open the doors to the throne room. Sylvain let out a soft laugh.

“Careful what you wish for, Felix. You’d have to handle me instead.”

“I'd rather handle you,” Felix answered without thinking, quickly moving through the open doors before Sylvain saw the tips of his ears burning. 

“An arrangement I would be more than happy with,” Sylvain commented mirthfully. “But I’m afraid it’ll be awhile until you get the chance. Unless the old man gets struck by some illness. Or your sword. I think the latter will likely reach him faster.”

Felix found himself hard-pressed to disagree as they crossed the empty throne room, stopping in front of the door leading to the king’s cabinet. 

“This is where we part for the day," Sylvain declared with a tinge of regret as Felix reached for the handle.

Felix paused, looking at him. “You’re not staying?” Usually Sylvain would stay long enough for at least a meal with him and Dimitri before leaving. 

“I’ve got some business back in Gautier to attend to.” Whatever it was that Sylvain saw on Felix’s face, it made his gaze soften, his lips quirking up in a grin. “I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t miss me too much.”

“I won’t even think about you,” Felix assured him without missing a beat.

Sylvain chuckled as he turned to leave, but Felix’s mind lingered on his words. It was unusual for Sylvain to be called back to Gautier, not unless there was something going on. Felix’s sharp gaze didn’t miss the moment Sylvain’s expression changed, imperceptible to others but not to him.

“Is everything okay?”

Sylvain stopped in his tracks, looking back at Felix. Felix gripped the door handle tight as he forced the words out.

“You would tell me if you were in any danger, wouldn’t you?”

Despite everything they had been through together, Sylvain still had a habit of bearing things on his own. Their lives were separate now, their duties much different, but Sylvain knew he could ask Felix for help if he needed it. At least, Felix thought he had made that clear to him. Sylvain smiled again, a look in his eyes Felix didn’t care to dissect. “Is that worry I hear in your voice, Duke Fraldarius?” He teased.

Felix shot him a glare before turning back around, pulling open the door. “Forget I asked,” he huffed hotly.

“I’ll be careful,” he heard Sylvain call, his voice echoing through the throne room as Felix slammed the door shut behind him, stalking into the room where Dimitri was already in his seat at the head of the table, early as usual. Dedue stood beside him, steadfast as always, and nodded in greeting as Felix took his seat beside Dimitri.

Dimitri barely glanced up from the reports he was looking at. “I thought Sylvain already left.”

Felix accepted the set of military reports Dedue handed him with a curt nod. “I ran into him on the way here,” he muttered, still annoyed.

“Ah, right,” was all Dimitri said as Felix cleared his head and readied himself for what was probably going to be another frustrating, fruitless meeting.

-

It was another busy but otherwise uneventful month. Upon his return to Fraldarius, there was the usual work to be done — reports that required his review, letters of requests from townships. As he did every month, he travelled throughout the territory, checking on the progress of the restoration. He still wasn’t much of a people person, not the kind of lord who got to know every family he passed, but he made sure to visit the places that had sent out pleas, would stop to listen to those who called out to him. He took his responsibility as duke seriously, not just out of respect for his family, but for the people. After learning of the terrible secrets that were uncovered by the war, if he could do something to keep those tragedies from happening again and help those who had suffered find their way to better lives, he would do it.

It helped that his duties often gave him a chance to leave his estate. Sometimes it was suffocating living in the manor, taking his meals alone, doing his work while the servants moved through his home like restless phantoms. Every once in a while, if there was nothing that required his attention, he would go on hunts for a few days, just to hear something other than silence when he slept.

When he arrived back to his estate after his round about the land, he would often have at least one or two letters waiting for him. This month, he received three, one from Lysithea telling him about a new cake she thought he would like, an update and invoice from Leonie, another from Mercedes gently pestering him to visit, perhaps with Sylvain if he had the time. 

Sitting in his study, Felix let out a soft sigh as he added the letters to the stack. He kept all of the letters he received — the letter from Ashe about his new inn, from Annette telling him about her students at the school of sorcery, even one from their professor inviting him to fish with them one of these days. The mundanity of their letters was soothing after so many years of turmoil. It was a relief to see his friends settling into their new lives.

There were a few letters from Sylvain too, sent when he was away for longer stretches of time. Felix found himself digging one out, rereading it — it was one of the earlier ones talking about Sreng cuisine and how he thought Felix would like it — his eyes following the confident looping lines of Sylvain’s handwriting. He wondered how long it would be until Sylvain became margrave, if Sylvain would be able to see him more often when he did. Felix brushed his thumb over Sylvain’s signature. He wondered if they would be able to talk one day, away from the prying eyes and keen ears of the palace, about — 

It didn’t matter anymore, Felix reminded himself firmly as he took a deep breath, shoving the letter back under the stack and out of mind. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as he listened to the silence. They were all moving on. The war and all of the things that had happened during it were best left in the past.

-

A month later, when Felix returned again to Fhirdiad, there were strange whispers in the palace halls, ones he couldn’t ignore.

“I heard the routes are blocked —”

“— riots! I haven’t received word from my sister since —”

“Who would have thought that something like this could happen in a time of peace?”

Felix furrowed his brow and walked faster toward the throne room. He had chosen the wrong month to be late.

Upon arriving at the cabinet, the first thing Felix noticed was Margrave Gautier’s conspicuous absence; despite it, Dimitri started the meeting once Felix arrived. It went smoother than usual; there were a few others who shared the same views with the margrave, but without him at the helm, they were silent as the rest of them managed to finally discuss how the country could potentially move forward without the Crest system. Felix was quiet during the meeting too, lacking a role when there was no one he needed to shout down.

After the meeting ended, Dimitri spoke with a few of the lords while Felix lingered in his seat, waiting, his restlessness not escaping Dedue’s notice. Before Dimitri could start up another conversation, Dedue leaned over Dimitri's shoulder and murmured something — Dimitri's blue eye glanced toward Felix before he asked for the room to be cleared. Felix nodded his silent thanks to Dedue, who nodded back as he stepped out and closed the door behind him.

“There’s been a coup,” Dimitri told him once the door shut, his tone rather mild for the words he was saying. “Margrave Gautier has been deposed.”

Felix blinked, unsure of how to feel of the unexpected, but not unwelcome development. A coup? Staged by who? He must have missed the signs, missed an intelligence report, missed something. “And Sylvain? Is he in Sreng?” He asked, the questions fumbling out before he could stop himself.

“I received a letter from him by courier a few days ago. He’ll meet me once everything’s settled down. He’s in Gautier now, having assumed the title of margrave himself.”

Felix raised his eyebrows, allowing himself a smirk as the creeping panic left as quickly as it came. He didn’t think Sylvain had it in him. “I see.”

Dimitri agreed with a relieved sigh, his kingly demeanor slipping for a moment. “Hopefully, things will be a little easier from here on out,” Dimitri said tiredly. “If all goes well, Sylvain will be free to attend these meetings as well. It’ll help to have someone on our side who actually knows how to be persuasive.”

Felix would be offended if his method of suggestion wasn’t usually just a command. “So Sreng has agreed to the treaty then?”

“I assume so, from what he said in his message,” Dimitri answered. Despite the good news, his expression suddenly turned troubled as he looked away, his brow furrowing.

Felix watched as Dimitri gathered up his papers, shuffling them slowly, absently. Something was wrong. There was something he wasn’t telling him. “What else did Sylvain say?”

The silence lasted a second too long. "He said —" Dimitri stopped, hesitating for another excruciating moment, before he lifted his head to meet Felix’s gaze. “He said he was getting married.”

Felix stared at him, unable to even muster up anger at the sight of pity on Dimitri’s face. It felt as though a sudden wind had blown over him, extinguishing the growing flicker of hope he had pretended he didn’t have. “Oh,” was all he managed to push out of his throat. Before his mind even thought to consider asking for more details, there was a knock on the door — a signal from Dedue — and Dimitri was excusing himself, muttering about something he needed to attend to, leaving Felix to stand there alone, to turn Dimitri’s words around in his head over and over, failing to make sense of it.

Sylvain was getting married.

Felix didn’t know how much time passed before he managed to pull himself out of his reverie just long enough to get himself to start walking. He had his own business to attend to, after all. He needed to start walking out of the palace, to get on his horse and make his way back to his empty manor, to go through the motions again. Back to the life he had chosen.

Perhaps, Felix surmised, Sylvain decided to marry into one of the Sreng clans as a term of the treaty. Or perhaps he had fallen in love with someone and just never told Felix about it. Felix wished he could read the message Sylvain sent, to know what else he said, but the details didn’t matter, didn’t change the fact that Sylvain was getting married. He was getting married to someone who wasn’t -

Felix’s stomach soured, even though he had no reason, no right to be jealous. He wasn’t foolish enough to think the promise they made when they were children meant that Sylvain belonged to him. Sylvain flirted with everyone, enjoyed the unique rise it got out of Felix, the same song and dance since they were teenagers. It didn’t matter that they had sought comfort in each other during the war; they never courted, never put a name to it, the night Sylvain had almost died and Felix had kissed him, the nights that followed when they would hide away in their old rooms, steal away to their tent while others celebrated their latest victory, when Sylvain would touch him and Felix would pretend that it meant something. Felix saw it for what it was — a distraction, a survival mechanism — and knew better than to expect anything more. He had long made his peace with being alone. After Dimitri’s coronation, when Sylvain looked to him, Felix was the one who turned away first. He was the one who didn’t want a resolution, didn’t want to touch Sylvain knowing it would be the last time before Sylvain inevitably moved on to someone else. And he was right. Sylvain had moved on. 

“The margrave’s son? Settling down? Hah, that’s rich —”

“I think it’s romantic. He must really be in love to make such a decision —”

“I wonder who it is, the person who tied down the wandering heart of that Gautier boy —”

Felix heard more whispers as he walked through the palace, more rumors, gossip. His hands shook from how hard he clenched his fists. Finally, he made it out, stepping into the fine layer of snow dusting the ground. The air stung of an impending blizzard. The wind howled like mourning. 

No. He had to hear it for himself. 

-

Felix did not have a plan.

As he braced against the cold winds, his horse trudging through the snow, he tried to think. A declaration of love would probably be a bit much. Even if Felix somehow managed to force one out, Sylvain would probably think it was a joke and then Felix would have to become a recluse like Bernadetta.

He supposed he could try pushing Sylvain against a wall and kissing him again. Maybe Sylvain would indulge in him one last time. They could be quiet, just like they used to be; no one would have to know except the two of them, leaving him with some sense of closure.

Felix shook his head, snow falling away from his hood. He wasn’t selfish enough to ruin their friendship, Sylvain’s future and happiness, just for a warm, fleeting memory.

He tugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Maybe he could just kiss him and chalk it up to delirium induced by hypothermia. No, no, that wouldn’t do either...unless —

And so his thoughts went on like that.

Eventually, he found himself on the grounds of the Gautier estate, the blizzard in full force in the colder north. No matter the weather, there was always at least a guard somewhere, but there was no one in sight in the storm. Felix stabled his horse himself, noting how empty it was, before he headed to the main house.

He let himself in, the wind whistling in behind him and blowing the door open with a slam. He had been hoping for warmth, but the entrance was cold and dark, none of the lamps or fires lit. The manor seemed devoid of life on the inside as well, but otherwise pristine as usual. A few moments later, he heard footsteps; he looked toward the stairs to see Sylvain descending, peering curiously over the banister, his eyes widening upon seeing him.

“Felix?” Sylvain uttered breathlessly. He quickly rushed toward him, his brow creased with concern. “You rode in this weather?” Sylvain tugged Felix out of the way of the door before he shouldered it closed behind him. Sylvain took in his appearance; Felix imagined he looked as pathetic as he felt, water dripping from his hair and down his face, practically numb to the chill that had sunk into his bones hours ago. He let Sylvain fuss over him, brushing off the snow that still clung to his cloak, as he struggled to come up with something to say. But he found himself distracted; Sylvain hadn’t changed — Why would he? It had only been a month since he last saw him — but something seemed different. Maybe it was just how Sylvain was dressed, lacking his formal coat and sashes. It had been a long time since Felix had seen him out of uniform.

The shock of Sylvain’s warm palm against his cold cheek snapped Felix out of his thoughts. “You’re freezing,” Sylvain said. “C'mon, I’ve got a fire going in my room.”

Unable to really get a word in, Felix could only follow. 

Nothing could have prepared him for what greeted him when he entered Sylvain’s room. Sylvain’s normally tidy room was unrecognizable. Layers of parchment were piled up on his desk, not counting the stacks and rolls on the floor, even overtaking one side of his bed. And that was just what Felix was seeing at first glance. “Sorry about the mess, I uh,” Sylvain cleared his throat as he quickly strode over to his desk, “I haven't had the chance to organize.”

Felix took another moment to take in the sight, still a little overwhelmed. It was like a library had been upturned and crammed into the room. “I can see that.”

Sylvain shuffled some things around, crumpling up a few pieces of parchment and tossing them to the floor where a sizable pile of similar wads was already sitting by his desk. Upon noticing Felix staring at the small mountain, Sylvain promptly leaned over to tend to the pile, gathering it all into one mass and throwing it into the fireplace. The fire roared for a moment, puffing out a plume of smoke. He turned back around with a nervous smile, leaning an arm against the mantle awkwardly. 

A moment or two passed. They both jumped when Sylvain suddenly moved again. “Sorry, I — Here, I'll take your cloak — the coat and gloves too. It won't do you any good staying in wet clothes. Sit by the fire for a while.”

Felix unclasped his cloak to let Sylvain pull it and his coat from his shoulders, let Sylvain tug his wet gloves off his aching hands. Felix took a seat in the one chair that wasn’t occupied by more documents. He blinked as Sylvain suddenly knelt to the floor in front of him, his hands reaching for the belts of Felix’s muddy spats.

Felix quickly grabbed Sylvain’s wrists, warmth immediately returning to his cheeks. “Sylvain, I can -”

“Your fingers are stiff as boards. I’ve got it,” Sylvain said with a quiet laugh, gently nudging Felix’s hands aside before he moved to loosen the buckles. He spoke as he worked. “Did you come here from Fhirdiad?” Sylvain glanced up as Felix nodded, his face slowly heating up. “It must be something urgent for Dimitri to send you out in this blizzard.”

“He didn’t send me. I —” Felix looked at the questioning look on Sylvain’s face, losing his nerve to ask what he really wanted to know. "I heard about the coup," he said instead. "Routes cut off, unrest. People were saying it had been a violent revolution.”

“Is that really what they’re saying in the capital?” Sylvain asked incredulously, pulling off one of Felix’s spats and moving on to the other. “I mean, there might have been some strong language involved, but eventually my father came around to leaving the messy politics to me and settling down somewhere warmer. But if that’s what you’ve been hearing, I can understand why you’d want to come see for yourself.” The other spat came off as he tossed up a grin. "Makes me feel a bit special, getting a personal visit from the duke. But you know you don't need to worry about me."

He was teasing, but Felix found himself unable to retort, not with Sylvain’s hand gently tucked under his knee as he carefully wiggled off his boots. Sylvain always had a way of making Felix feel vulnerable, exposed yet protected. “I worry about you anyway," he admitted instead.

Sylvain’s hands slowed for a moment. Sylvain let out a soft breath. “I know."

They fell into silence. Felix’s body was already warmed all the way through by the time his bare feet hit the rug. Sylvain set his boots and socks in front of the fire to dry, then stepped away with his damp clothes. Felix rubbed his palms against his legs, glancing back at Sylvain, who appeared to be rummaging through the mess on the other side of the room to look for something to hang up his clothes, and then looked around, scanning the room for any evidence of another person. He saw none — at least, none in plain sight. He stood, moving toward Sylvain’s desk. 

Felix flicked idly through the papers on Sylvain’s desk while Sylvain swore through the sound of things tumbling about. There were maps showing land ownership among the nobility, agricultural data, decrees dated years ago still waiting for approval. Typical paperwork. “I presume your father took everyone in the estate with him when he left,” Felix commented.

A burdened sigh came out from behind a tower of ledgers. “Both a compromise and one last act of spite — well, not counting this mess he left me with. Gerard and some of the kitchen cooks decided to stay though, so at least I’m not completely helpless.”

Felix remembered Gerard from his childhood, the butler who was often in charge of their playdates. He glanced again at Sylvain, who was fighting a losing battle with a coat rack. He looked back down and nudged a few papers aside with a finger. What was Sylvain trying to hide…? “I can send some of my people to help you.”

“It’s fine,” Sylvain grunted, voice strained. “Might be making some changes in the coming months anyway.”

The sourness in Felix’s stomach returned. Felix looked up when Sylvain let out a triumphant cry, brandishing the coat rack. Sylvain looked toward the chair Felix had vacated, blinking before he found him, and Felix looked back at him innocently, leaning against the desk and tapping his finger on it, as if daring him to say something.

But Sylvain only let out an amused huff and set the coat rack down close to the fireplace, hanging up his damp clothes. "Well, I'd say I'm sorry you made the journey for nothing, but I’m afraid I’d be lying." 

Sylvain turned to him, meeting his gaze, and Felix realized why everything felt so different. It was the way Sylvain smiled at him, different from the way he smiled when he was at the palace, even from the way he smiled toward the people he charmed. It was his honest smile, from before they had their titles, their formalities — the one Felix caught shadows of whenever they were together, the one he once wanted to believe Sylvain only ever let him see. Of course, it was a foolish thought. There was someone else Sylvain smiled at like that now.

There was no going back now. Felix committed it to memory, Sylvain’s smile, warm as the fire, before he spoke. “I didn't just come here to ask about the coup. I came to give my congratulations,” Felix forced himself to say, stilted, “for your marriage.”

Sylvain looked surprised, tensing up, his eyes widening before darting away shyly. His entire posture changed; he rubbed his neck, the boyish gesture stirring up the bittersweetness of nostalgia. “Ah, so you heard about that too.”

So that was that, then. It was true — Sylvain was getting married. Felix felt his heart clench painfully. He felt like a jealous mistress, hating that someone had taken Sylvain from him, but Sylvain was never his in the first place. He turned away to look out the window, crossing his arms as he took a deep, wavering breath. He could do this. He could talk about this with Sylvain like a friend. “Not that I care, but I thought you’d at least have the courtesy to tell me yourself,” he tried to say wryly, hoping it didn’t come across bitter.

Sylvain was silent for a moment. “I thought I’d wait for a better time.”

Felix clenched his jaw, the instinct to pick a fight rising, but it lost against his broken heart. He had no right to be angry about this, couldn't find it in himself to hate Sylvain — no, he could never hate him — but it wouldn’t be strange for him to be annoyed about Sylvain not telling him about this courtship he had apparently been engaged in, would it? Sylvain knew very well that Felix wasn’t well-versed in matters of the heart, but that never seemed to stop him from talking about his endless string of girlfriends before. They were friends, after all. At the very least, Sylvain should’ve told Felix before he told Dimitri, king or not. “For something like this, shouldn't I be the first person you tell?”

Sylvain let out a quiet laugh. “I guess you’re right. I should've known you'd think that way.”

Felix dug his fingers into his arm, letting out a sharp, shaking exhale. Yes, he could do this. He could hold his emotions back, long enough to carry them home, where he could lick his wounds in private. He wasn’t strong enough to ask who it was Sylvain had chosen, who it was he loved, but he could say he was happy for Sylvain. He could — 

A quiet thump pulled him out of his thoughts. 

When Felix turned around, he saw Sylvain, down on one knee. Held up toward him, pinched between Sylvain’s thumb and forefinger, was a silver ring, an amber stone set in the middle. 

Felix stared at it, dragging his eyes up to look at Sylvain and the nervous smile on his face, his mind racing to every possible explanation aside from the obvious.

“What,” Felix eventually managed to choke out, “are you _doing_.”

The nervousness on Sylvain’s face gave way to confusion. “I’m...proposing?” Sylvain blinked, then furrowed his brow. “You just — you just said you knew!” He stared at Felix for another moment as if still waiting for a reaction, but Felix still had nothing to offer him but shock. “I thought you were being coy about it!”

The hope Felix thought had disappeared returned with a fury. Felix shot another quick glance at the ring, to make sure he hadn’t imagined it. “I wasn’t — I didn’t —” he sputtered. “I thought you were marrying someone else! For peace!”

“For peace...?” Sylvain echoed, struggling to follow Felix’s line of thought. “You mean like marrying someone from Sreng? Why would — I told you, they don’t have a problem with me. Or even Fódlan anymore. The only one they hated was my father.” He paused, holding up a hand. “Wait, Dimitri didn’t tell you? I mean, I obviously told him not to tell anyone, especially not you, but he clearly did anyway.”

Felix felt like he was floating outside of his body. “He just said you were getting married,” he said distantly. “He didn’t say to who.”

Realization crossed Sylvain’s face. He dropped his head, scratching his neck. “I never thought Dimitri had it in him,” he muttered with a chuckle. He looked up at Felix, a small smile on his lips. “He knew it was going to be you. I told him in my message.”

Felix was starting to think that Dimitri was responsible for the rumor mill in Fhirdiad. “For a king, he lacks discretion,” he mumbled weakly.

Sylvain laughed. “Good thing it’s mostly just the fishwife gossip he can't keep to himself.”

Sylvain got back on his feet with a sigh and for a moment, Felix panicked, thinking Sylvain was going to take it back before he could respond, but Sylvain only stepped toward him, the ring still in his hand.

“So you’re telling me you came all the way here, straight from the capital, riding through this blizzard, thinking I was getting married to someone, just to check up on me and...congratulate me?”

Felix opened and closed his mouth uselessly, flushing when a knowing smile spread on Sylvain’s lips. His instinct was to lie, maybe lean into the coup excuse, possibly run away immediately after, but he couldn’t be a coward again, not when Sylvain had literally just tried to propose to him. “I think I was considering engaging in a scandal,” Felix admitted faintly and Sylvain snorted.

“I’d let you seduce me and wreck my home anytime, but you really thought that between all my travelling and my diplomatic duties, I’ve been convincing someone else to marry me?” Sylvain grinned. “I’ve hardly had time to flirt with you.”

“I don’t know. How am I supposed to know?” Felix mumbled. “You’re always flirting with people.”

“It’s called being nice and friendly,” Sylvain teased. “I’d tell you to try it but I’m afraid you’ll start falling in love with people the way you think I’m falling in love with people.”

Without any excuses left, Felix could only glare, his face burning, and as always, it was met with amusement. 

Sylvain sighed dramatically. “I had something romantic planned for you,” he complained lightly. “Once I could get back and see you more often, I was going to properly woo you, the way you deserved, with flowers and letters,” he gestured vaguely toward the fireplace, “and then I was going to make an honest man out of you. I know you probably would've hated it, but I would've enjoyed seeing you flustered.”

Felix could barely hear him over his pounding heart. Sylvain stepped even closer, turning the ring over with his fingers. He was close enough for Felix to feel the warmth of his body.

“I’m sorry I let you doubt me for so long,” he said regretfully. “I just - everything happened so fast after the war and we both got so busy. We never got the chance to talk before I was sent to Sreng and after that, I could never find the chance to talk to you alone. As time passed, I knew I needed to do something, to come back before I lost you for good, but I didn’t want anyone to think badly of you, associating with a margrave who had to seize his title. I wanted to make my case, go through the proper channels, before I —”

“Stop talking and put the damn ring on me already,” Felix whispered, his voice thick. Sylvain blinked, dumbstruck, before he beamed. He took Felix’s hand — Sylvain’s palms were damp and Felix didn’t care — and carefully slipped the ring on his finger. Felix looked down at his hand in Sylvain’s. The ring fit him perfectly, the amber stone shining in the firelight. Sylvain touched his chin, tilting his face up so he could look him in the eyes.

"I’ve loved you longer than I’ve known what it means to be in love,” Sylvain said softly. "It's only appropriate that we got the order of all of this wrong too, don't you think?"

Felix didn’t know what to do with everything he was feeling, didn’t know what to say, his heart pressing against his throat. For the first time in his life, he felt dangerously close to crying, not out of sadness or grief, but out of joy. Unable to convey anything with words, he could only pull Sylvain's hand to his cheek and lean into his palm. Sylvain let out a quiet chuckle, stroking his cheek with his thumb.

“So I guess that’s a yes?”

Felix looked at Sylvain, the smile that belonged to him. This whole time, while Felix was feeling sorry for himself like a lovesick fool, Sylvain was thinking of him, thinking of ways to be with him. They've spent so long dancing around each other when it was so much simpler than they thought.

“Yes,” Felix breathed, his hands already moving to cradle Sylvain’s jaw, Sylvain already leaning down to kiss him. The moment their lips met, soft, hesitant in their longing, it felt as though the uncertainty that had been lingering in the back of his mind burned away, like he was waking up from a dream, only to find that it had followed him to the waking world. 

They pulled away, their breaths mingling a moment before they met, again and again, the room slowly turning too warm, air growing heavier, Sylvain’s arms winding around Felix’s waist as Felix’s hands tangled in his hair. 

In seconds, the composure Felix had worked hard to cultivate was promptly thrown out the window. Felix nipped at Sylvain’s lips, his tongue running across the seam of his mouth. Sylvain opened for him, stumbling back as Felix pushed him toward the closest flat surface, Sylvain grunting as the knob of his dresser dug into his back, a stack of account books falling over and clattering to the floor. Felix didn’t let up, kissing him deeply and pressing himself against the line of Sylvain’s body until he was nearly climbing him, Sylvain’s hand cupping Felix’s ass to support his ambitious endeavor.

“Felix,” Sylvain gasped, groaning as Felix ground his hips against him, feeling Sylvain through his pants. Felix let out a pleased sigh as the hand on his ass gripped him tighter. Neither of them could wait any longer. “This isn’t — mmph — proper. We’re not married yet.”

“You must not want to fuck me if you’re still cracking jokes,” Felix growled against his mouth and Sylvain, quick thinker that he was, hoisted him up by his thighs and carried him over to the bed, carelessly sweeping rolls of parchment to the floor before dropping him down on the cleared bed. “Those looked important,” Felix said, catching his breath while Sylvain shucked off his clothes with impressive haste.

“As you’ve kindly informed me, I have a more pressing matter at hand,” Sylvain replied sweetly, clambering on top of him to kiss him again.

Felix let Sylvain take off the rest of his clothes, let him suck kisses along his neck as he ran his hands along the slope of Sylvain’s shoulders, down his chest, his fingers grazing over the scars he knew every story of. He found himself thinking of the last time they did this — over a year ago before their last battle, desperately grasping for each other like they were searching for each other even though they were closer than they could ever be. He felt Sylvain’s hand over his, grounding him to the present, his eyes drifting to the ring on his finger. Sylvain followed his gaze, exhaling softly before touching his cheek.

“I missed you,” Sylvain said, tracing his jaw with his fingers. 

Felix forced himself to hold his gaze, even though the sincerity of it made him want to hide. “I missed you too,” he murmured.

Felix had heard every story there was out there about Sylvain. He used to push them out of his mind, but he thought about them now that he could touch Sylvain to quell the flares of jealousy that the rumors stirred up in him. It was true that everything about Sylvain was quite firm, but his gaze was soft, his touch softer still. Felix had heard Sylvain was enthusiastic, aggressive, had expected him to be just that the first time Sylvain pulled him into his bed — well, his glorified bedroll — but it turned out Sylvain preferred to be gentle.

Sylvain smiled, touching Felix’s bottom lip with his thumb, encouraging him to part his lips with a soft press before sealing his mouth with his own, his tongue plundering Felix’s mouth. _Gentle, but never chaste_ , Felix thought as he felt his body grow hotter under Sylvain’s slow roaming hands. Felix ran his hands down Sylvain’s neck, arching up against him as Sylvain dragged his palms down his body, reacquainting himself with the body he knew so well.

“Oh,” Sylvain broke the kiss, Felix panting for breath. His hand had wandered to Felix’s cock, already leaking. He curled his fingers around him, smearing the come beading at the tip down Felix’s shaft. “It’s been a while for you, hasn’t it?”

Felix would be embarrassed about having already been reduced to this from his kisses and touch alone, if he didn’t already know that Sylvain was the same, his cock hard and heavy against his thigh. “How long has it been for you?” Felix countered breathily, thrusting up into Sylvain’s hand.

Sylvain grinned as he pulled off Felix’s hair tie, running his fingers through his loose hair. “No one since you,” he confessed. “How could I have anyone else after I’ve had you?”

Felix tried not to look too pleased, flushing under Sylvain’s adoring gaze, electing to pull his head down for another kiss. “So then all that time, you really could control yourself.”

Sylvain laughed against his lips. “It wasn’t easy. It required a lot of prayer.” And then, when Felix cast him a disbelieving look, “Well, a lot of imagination and oil.”

Felix hummed. “Speaking of oil.”

In the next moment, Sylvain was leaning over to the drawer by his bed and yanking it open, the bottle inside rattling around until Sylvain snatched it out. Felix spread his legs, waiting, but Sylvain only looked back at him, kneeling between his legs, his gaze heated. He leaned forward, pressing the bottle into Felix’s palm. “Let me see how you touched yourself.”

Felix swallowed, wrapping his fingers around the bottle. 

They’ve gotten off together before, the times when there wasn’t the time or space for anything more than that, but it was never this deliberate, this intimate. Felix uncorked the bottle, pouring the oil over his fingers, a few drops escaping and dripping onto his stomach. He chanced a look at Sylvain, flushing under his rapt attention.

Usually when Felix needed release, it was a perfunctory task, merely something to temporarily ease a persistent ache so that he could fall asleep. But there were times when he needed more. Felix sat up against the headboard and tilted his hips forward, reaching down to press his slick fingers against his hole, circling the rim with his fingertips. Sylvain rested his hands on Felix’s knees; Felix could feel Sylvain’s hands twitch as he pushed one finger in slowly, lightly stroking his cock with his free hand, his eyes falling closed. He bit back a moan as he pumped his finger in a few times, drawing his knees up higher before adding the second, smiling at the sound of the sharp inhale of Sylvain’s breath. When he did this, he would think of Sylvain’s hands, his lips, his body, the time Sylvain sucked him off while he spread him open, anything to get himself to come before he could miss him. It was different now with Sylvain finally here, watching his every move, with Sylvain’s ring on his finger, the warm metal adding a new sensation each time he stroked himself. His face burned at the sounds falling out of his mouth, the wet slick sound of his fingers, noisy even over the crackling fire.

The bed creaked. “Goddess, you’re beautiful,” Sylvain rasped, his voice closer now, close enough for Felix to feel his ragged breath. His fingers trailed down the backs of his thighs, featherlight, before he held them, gently pushing his legs further apart. “To think that you’ve been doing this, all this time while I —”

Sylvain trailed off as Felix pushed in a third finger, letting go of his cock so Sylvain had a better view. “Did you touch yourself thinking of me?” Felix asked, the words coming out in breathy gasps. He opened his eyes, meeting Sylvain’s dark eyes.

“Anywhere I could, in Sreng, in every inn between there and Fhirdiad, right here in this bed last night,” Sylvain panted, his thumbs pressing against the inside of Felix’s thighs. “Every night like I was 19 again — Goddess, Felix, can I —”

“Yes,” Felix said, watching Sylvain fumble with the bottle, oil dripping onto his bed sheets as he poured it onto his fingers. Felix pulled out his fingers, gasping as Sylvain immediately filled him with his own. He had missed the stretch of Sylvain’s thick fingers, the angle of every thrust that he couldn’t achieve by himself, the way Sylvain knew exactly where to rub inside him. Felix moaned, jerking his hips as Sylvain pumped three fingers in him, sweat trickling down his thighs. “Sylvain, oh, right there —”

“I know,” Sylvain purred, leaning down to suck on a nipple. Felix felt like he was dissolving into a puddle, sliding further down the headboard until he was lying flat on the bed again, his muscles releasing tension he’d been holding for what felt like years. He arched his back with a languid groan, stretching out his arms over his head and spreading his legs until he was comfortably splayed out on the bed, moaning shamelessly as he lost himself in the feeling of Sylvain’s fingers moving inside him, Sylvain licking and sucking at all the skin he could get to.

“Want your cock,” Felix pleaded and Sylvain was more than happy to oblige him.

Sylvain poured the rest of the oil on his cock, slicking himself up with a few loose pumps, before he pressed against him, pushing in slowly. Felix’s mouth fell open in a silent gasp as he took Sylvain inch by inch, his body moving like it remembered exactly how to take him. Sylvain wedged his thighs underneath Felix’s, pushing until he was flush against his ass.

“Oh, you feel amazing,” Sylvain sighed, the rest of his words sounding like prayer as he drew back and sank in. He moved like he wanted to live in Felix’s body, rolling his hips in small thrusts, grinding against him. His hands held Felix’s hips firm, fingers digging into the meat of his ass, and all Felix could do was lie there and take it, Sylvain’s cock dragging against the hot clutch of his body. “I know you like it fast, but —”

“I like it like this, too,” Felix breathed, twisting his fingers in the sheets, moaning softly. They could never do it like this for long before Felix was shoving at Sylvain to hurry up, too tightly wound for anything that felt too close to lovemaking, but they had the time now. Pleasure came steadily, in waves, making his toes flex and curl, the heat in his belly burning low. He wanted so long for Sylvain to fill him up like this. He touched Sylvain’s knee, the closest place he could reach, humming contentedly when Sylvain leaned over him to kiss him.

They fucked like this, slow and lazy, kissing until they could only gasp against each other, until they found themselves driven right up to the edge, their rhythm shaking loose and unsteady, desperate. Between their bellies was a mess of sweat and Felix’s come, his cock red and leaking, his balls aching. Felix could feel Sylvain’s sweat dripping onto his body; Sylvain was trying to make this last. Felix ran his hand up Sylvain’s neck, grabbing a fistful of sweat-damp hair at the nape of his neck. They would have plenty of chances after this.

Felix reached down to wrap his hand around his cock, pumping his fist as the heat built up fast, and he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut as he came hard, come spurting on his chest. Sylvain moved to pull out, but Felix hooked a leg onto his hip, digging a heel into his back.

“Finish inside me,” Felix panted, still stroking himself, still keeping himself tight around Sylvain’s cock, and a new litany of prayers fell from Sylvain’s lips as he obeyed, pounding into him with what energy he had left.

Felix whimpered as Sylvain came with a low groan, hitching Felix’s leg up higher as he rocked against him. Once he had worked every last bit of come into him, Sylvain fell beside him, breathing heavily, while Felix stared up at the ceiling in a daze, still trying to catch his breath and calm his rapid heartbeat, his skin still buzzing. Felix squirmed, his ass clenching as come dripped out, forlorn now that he was empty after being fucked for what felt like hours. Sylvain, meanwhile, kept his eyes on him, his hands too, pulling Felix toward him, sticking their sweaty bodies together. His hand drifted back to Felix’s ass, parting his cheeks to touch his loose hole.

“Glad to know I wasn’t the only one occupying myself with a vivid imagination,” Sylvain murmured appreciatively, pushing his come back inside of him.

Sylvain cleaned them up a bit while Felix burrowed closer, too satisfied to feel embarrassed. Since he had been at Sylvain’s mercy the entire time, he took the chance to bite and suck a mark right above where the collar of Sylvain's uniform hit his neck, Sylvain sighing like he knew exactly what he was doing. “Since I don’t have a ring for you yet,” Felix explained once the mark was to his liking, his head falling back on the pillow as Sylvain thanked him with a laugh and a kiss.

They held each other for a while, their legs tangled together as they basked in the closeness, waiting for the haze of sex to clear from their heads. Felix found himself dozing off for a few minutes at a time while Sylvain ran his fingers through his hair. The sky outside the window slowly darkened over Sylvain’s shoulder, the snow still falling silently, time seeming to stretch infinitely in Sylvain’s arms. It felt nice. 

“Stay a while?” Sylvain asked hopefully, tucking a lock of Felix’s hair behind his ear. “For the night, at least. I wouldn't let you travel out in that weather anyway.”

Felix hummed, blinking slowly. Surely no one would mind if he took a break for a day or two. “People will talk.”

“Does that really worry you?”

Felix snorted. “No.”

“Then let them,” Sylvain murmured, rolling Felix onto his back to press kisses against his lips, down his neck. “When we get the chance, we’ll announce the marriage, really give them something to talk about.” He grinned down at him. “I wonder what kind of rumors they’ll think of for us.”

Felix sighed as Sylvain continued down his chest. “Who cares,” he mumbled. He had Sylvain now; he didn’t care what anyone else had to say.

"Wouldn’t you want to set the record straight?” Sylvain asked, kissing his hip bone. “We’ve got such a good story.”

“Do you really want everyone to know everything about us?” Felix countered, his breath hitching as Sylvain sunk lower.

"You're right." Sylvain smiled as he placed his hand flat against Felix’s stomach, his cheek resting against his thigh. “I think some of the finer details can be left between the two of us.”

-

The disappearance of Duke Fraldarius coinciding with the sudden usurpation of Margrave Gautier by his own son wasn’t particularly unusual. Most thought the duke had been sent by the king to deal with the rebellion, lamenting the tragedy of two close friends being forced to fight, but when the duke resurfaced after a week, betrothed to the new margrave, it indeed became a very hotly discussed piece of gossip in the capital, particularly what exactly had happened during that week when the duke went “missing”.

Dimitri may have wept with joy upon hearing of the betrothal, confessing the moment Felix confronted him about his deception; Claude, who seemed to have a way of detecting ulterior motives even from the Almyran throne, had caught on to what Sylvain intended to do and happened to be present when Dimitri received Sylvain's message, offering Dimitri a suggestion. Dimitri, uncertain, had discussed the matter with Dedue and Byleth, both of whom thought it would work out in the end, probably. Even Edelgard, who was consulted after the fact, agreed it had to be done for their own good. Though he couldn't say much in rebuttal, Felix wondered if Fódlan really was in safe hands.

When Felix visited Sreng for the first time with Sylvain after the treaty was signed, the clan leaders greeted him like they were old friends, casting him sly looks while ribbing Sylvain in Sreng. The Sreng archivist told them the story as it would be written in their history — how peace between their countries was achieved with the help of a once prolific philanderer who usurped his own father, not just for the sake of their treaty, but to return to a certain duke from whom his heart never wandered.

“Well,” Felix grumbled, red-faced, as everyone in the room looked to him for feedback, “it’s better than the drivel that comes out of the capital.”

Sylvain smiled, their rings touching as he took Felix’s hand and raised it to his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> dimitri: say, for example, if two of your advisors were clearly in love but weren’t doing anything about it and someone told you about something that could maybe help them along —  
> edelgard: //thinking of hubert and ferdinand// i would do it instantly
> 
> -
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
